


Annoying

by keeptogethernow



Series: Support Systems [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is mentioned like four times, But whatever, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Lots of explosions, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 06:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeptogethernow/pseuds/keeptogethernow
Summary: Jason's not sure which is more annoying--working with his "brothers" or the fact that they can't seem to keep from blowing things up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proof this one as well as I normally do. Please let me know if there's any errors or if things don't make sense!

If there’s a downside to being on good terms with his family again, Jason’s pretty sure it’s the fact that his “brothers” seem to think it means he’s interested in helping with anything. Like right now, when Dick had asked, begged, and straight-up blacked mailed him into agreeing to work on a mission. He’d claimed that it required more than three people, and in retrospect, Jason probably should have asked _who_ the other two would be.

But he hadn’t, and now he’s stuck sitting in the cave, listening to Dick try to finalize plans while Tim and Damian snipe back and forth, effectively distracting Dick. And apparently, he’s in charge, so Jason’s opinions have, thus far, been ignored or dismissed. For instance: he specifically said he had no interest in dealing with anyone under eighteen, and now Dick’s assigning Damian to go with him and keep any opposition on the far side of the building…alone. As in “just him and Damian”. Which sounds like a very poor plan on Dick’s part.

“Why do I have to go with the brat?” Jason protests, more out of spite than anything. “I thought you wanted this to work!”

Dick glares at him, but manages to sound almost polite. “Because…Damian’s been forbidden from going on drug busts after his…C-4 incident. And I need Tim to get into the vault which means he can’t stay with Damian, not that that would turn out well anyway.” Now he shoots a disappointed look at Tim, who shrugs.

“Not my fault he wants to kill me.”

“He does not—“ Dick starts to argue, before stopping himself. “Look,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Jason, just… _please_ do this for me. I told Bruce that I wouldn’t go behind his back this time.”

Damian snorts from his perch on the hood of the Batmobile. “I still feel that this entire ‘punishment’ is a complete overreaction—nobody _died_. And Drake? I don’t want to _kill_ you. I just want to maim you and then let nature take its course.”

“Fine!” Jason snaps, interrupting the argument he can see about to erupt. “I’ll watch the brat. But I’d like it noted that I protested.”

“Deal.” Dick looks relieved. “Okay, if that’s settled—Tim, _do not_ throw that—then let’s head out. Rendezvous at—Oh, for the love of God!” He stops to grab the batarang out of his younger brother’s hand and level a forbidding glare at the other. “Damian, _I swear_ , if you throw that knife, I _will_ lock you up and leave you here. You know I can.” He waits for Damian to lower his arm, then nods in satisfaction. “Good. Now, as I was saying, we’ll meet up on the roof of the old Howser building on Crick Avenue.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “I got it. Let’s _go.”_

The ride over is fairly quiet after Damian stops complaining about how “he can drive himself” and that riding behind Jason is “demeaning to his title”, whatever _that_ means. Jason’s really not thrilled to be stuck with the difficult preteen for several reasons, mainly that he’s not interested in being talked down to by someone who barely clears his waist. Also, Damian doesn’t _listen to anyone_ (except for maybe Bruce and Dick), and he’s a _kid_ and Jason has serious reservations about putting kids in positions where they’re likely to be used for target practice. Of course, he can’t argue any of the last two points out loud since it’s not like Tim listens either, and Damian’s not the only one to wear the Robin uniform.

By the time he parks the bike in an alley, he can feel the tension rolling off of the kid and, to be fair, he’s equally ready to _do_ something. Motioning for Robin to follow, he heads up the fire escape for a better look at what they’re dealing with. The house across from them is old, with sagging roofs and shutters that just barely hang on the window frames. There’s light seeping out from between tatty curtains, and the front door looks incredibly flimsy.

“Okay, we’re in position,” Red Hood says into the comm, examining the building for the best route in. “How do we know for sure that there’s even a safe in there?”

A moment of silence, and he gets a snarky “it _has_ electricity, y’know” from Red Robin.

“Doesn’t answer my question,” he mutters through gritted teeth, and then, in a louder tone, “We’re going in through the front door. You guys should probably consider the upstairs windows as the best entrance.”

“Roger!” Nightwing sounds ridiculously upbeat for someone who’s supposed to go through a small window into a house full of God-knows-how-many thugs with guns.

Red Hood takes the time to roll his eyes at the ridiculous attitude, then glances at Robin. “You ready?” The younger vigilante nods, a surprisingly feral grin slowly spreading over his face. “Great, let’s go then!”

\---

If there’s one impressive thing to be said for combat of any form, it’s the way that a simple encounter can turn critical in less than a second. For instance: two minutes ago, Red Hood had been waxing slightly poetic on the ease with which he and Robin had taken out the very surprised thugs and the next, part of the house just _explodes,_ wood splintering off and flying everywhere, chunks of plaster flung with the force of mortars, smoke and dust _everywhere._

Red Hood has never been so thankful for his helmet as he is when a spinning piece of wood and plaster slams into his head with enough force to make it snap back on impact. He can’t really imagine (well, actually he _can_ ) how bad it would have been if the helmet hadn’t taken most of the impact. Breathing a small prayer of thanks to whatever deity just saved him from serious brain damage, he looks around for Robin…or _anyone,_ really, because all he can see is fuzzy blobs, and he’s not sure what’s the concussion he probably has and what’s the smog.

Groaning, he raises himself onto his elbows and immediately realizes that there’s _another_ problem—in addition to the obvious (head injuries, no idea where the others are, the growing fire that’s consuming the house), there’s a sizable hole in the ground where the floor _should_ be. Knowing that much of Gotham is built on top of older buildings, he’s pretty sure that the house’s foundation has given out and dropped everything into the abyss below.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Jason scrambles back from the edge, trying to tug his helmet off—the lenses are busted, hence the blurred vision. “Fuck. Okay…okay…um, oh man…hey, Robin, you good?”

While he waits for a response, he realizes that his helmet is currently the only way of reaching anyone. Fumbling for the earpiece in his pocket, he tries to get a signal. “Nightwing, come in! Ugh…what the hell happened? Yo, Nightwing?”

Muttering more curses, he finally gets the earpiece out and the helmet off. He immediately regrets this as the acrid smoke floods into his lungs, making him gag and cough. On the upside, he can see more clearly now. Making out a body over to his right, he crawls over to check—the poor guy’s dead, blood seeping out around him. Jason grimaces—he wouldn’t have wished that sort of death on anyone (and he should know, since he’s been blown up before).

The earpiece is still buzzing with empty static, blending in nicely with the crackle of fire and occasional thud of falling debris. He tugs the collar of his shirt up, hoping to screen some of the crap in the air, then stands up, alert for any other falling items or people. As he goes to stagger forward, something moves out of the corner of his eye, a solid shape in the smog.

Jason tenses and then lashes out, aiming for the person’s head. He misses, but the figure stumbles back, tripping on debris.

“Ow, what the fuck?”

He recognizes the voice and tries to stop Tim from actually falling into the hole by grabbing the front of his shirt. Unfortunately, his depth perception is still off, because he totally misses by a good two inches. Thankfully, Tim’s a lot less disoriented and manages to avoid the edge.

“Sorry,” Jason says, actually meaning it.

“Yeah. You okay?” Tim eyes him a little warily. His mask is missing, and his grey eyes are full of something similar to suspicion. “What happened?”

Jason scowls. “I _don’t know._ I thought you guys did it!”

“No.”

“Well, fuck. Um…okay, look, we need to find Robin and get out of here. This place is gonna totally fall in at any moment. Where’s dickhead?”

Tim frowns, looking a lot more concerned.  “Not sure. What do you mean, ‘we need to find Robin’? He’s _supposed to be with you!”_

Deciding to not to acknowledge that little gem, Jason starts to search the area, hoping for anything that might indicate where the boy had gone. He can sense Tim moving behind him, hopefully helping. They keep looking, as the house starts to really collapse and whole pieces of the floor start to fall inward.

“Maybe he fell into the hole?” Tim suggests, diving to the side to avoid a falling beam. “I mean, where else could he have gone? He’s not exactly the kind of person to just get out of a burning building.”

Jason opens his mouth to answer, but he’s not able to get anything out before another part of the floor caves. Unfortunately, Tim was standing on said piece and a couple of things happen at once. First, Jason’s retort turns into a half-formed warning of “ _move!”,_ Tim jumps towards him as the floor falls, but because the floor gave way, he lands short and the only reason he doesn’t go straight down is because Jason manages to snag the back of his shirt. And then the floor goes out from under him too, probably because of the added weight.

\---

For some reason, Jason’s first solid thought after the fall is: “Regret: _verb._ To feel sorry or unhappy about something you did or were unable to do.” It seems appropriate, given the situation. He’s pretty sure that his head has caved in somewhere in the fall, and it’s too dark to actually tell if he’s actually alive yet.

He groans and sits up, waiting for the stars to clear out of his vision. As he blinks, his eyes start to adjust to the dim light, so…not dead. Jason sighs and gingerly lifts a hand to the back of his head, flinching when it brushes against the blood-matted hair.

“ _Dammit!_ ” He flops his hand down onto his lap and looks around. “Yo, anyone alive down here?”

“Jason?”

Dick’s voice comes from somewhere behind him, and Jason can’t keep from jumping. “Um, yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dick groans, which is, honestly, a little insulting. “Fuck!”

“Well, I can leave if that’s what you want.” Jason mutters, trying to stand up and only falling part-way. “ _Jeez_. Um, okay, so I fell down here with…oh, shit! You seen either of the kids?”

“Um…Jay…I’m a _little_ stuck here.”

Jason scans the area until he spots Dick, who is, indeed, stuck under a very large beam of wood. He winces a little and moves as quickly as he can over to help the older vigilante.

“Man, how are you _not dead???_ ”

“Um…luck?” Dick tries to shrug and fails miserably. “It’s not crushing me, I just can’t _move._ Oh, and I cracked my head on a rock and also I think my arm is broken.”

“Great.”

The beam is a lot heavier than Jason had thought. It takes a lot of heaving and swearing before the thing starts to shift. Thankfully, Dick is incredibly good at squirming out of tight situations, so he manages to use that half-inch of space to get out from under the wood.

The older vigilante tries to take a deep breath and winces. “I…may have also broken a few ribs.”

Jason nods and sighs and sits back on his heels. “Wonderful. Okay, so can you walk? We need to find the kids and get out of here.”

Dick grunts and stands up, wobbling a little. “I’m good. So…um, we’re gonna have to go fast. I don’t know if this part of the undercity is inhabited or not, but we shouldn’t hang around to find out.”

“Oh, goodie, so on top of finding two of the world’s most difficult kids, we also have to watch out for falling buildings and sewer monsters?” Jason wishes his voice could convey _more_ sarcasm. “Well, this is just a _great_ day.”

“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry for asking for your help, alright? So…let’s just find the kids and get out of here, and I _swear_ that I won’t ask for your help again!”

Jason decides to just drop it and huffs off to start looking through the debris. He feels kind of bad for pushing Dick to the point where he snapped, but he’s sure as hell not saying so. After a few minutes of digging, Dick pipes up.

“Maybe they landed further down. I mean, we’re on a ledge. There’s a lot under us still.”

It’s a very good point, so Jason starts looking for a way down while Dick tries to get the comm working. Finally, Jason finds a rather rickety-looking fire escape, and they begin a very cautious descent.

\---

They’ve been walking for a good thirty minutes, sloshing through knee-deep water when Jason stops suddenly.

“Did you here that?”

Before Dick can answer, there’s a sound from up ahead again—something splashing and echoing, distorted voices. They exchange a look and take off in the direction of the noise, moving as quickly and quietly as possible. Finally, they reach the opening to a large drainage pipe—most of the sewer system up above drained out into the undercity (a very bad long-term plan, in Jason’s opinion).

They move slower now, doing their best not to make noise—not that it matter, since the tunnel bounces echoes off of each wall, distorting and echoing every sound until it’s impossible to tell what’s current sound and what’s just echoes. But the sounds become louder as they go, until some of the noises separate into voices.

At first, it’s just loud, angry adult voices shouting threats and orders. And then (of course), there’s a higher, younger voice shouting right back.

Dick actually facepalms. “Oh. My. God. I’m gonna _kill_ him.”

“Well, you’d better stop them from killing him first,” Jason suggests helpfully, trying not to actually laugh. He pushes past Dick and edges around the corner.

There are about ten very large, very angry guys with blunt weapons standing under a ledge that’s _maybe_ six feet high and _possibly_ a foot wide. And, perched on this ledge, are Tim and Damian. Well, _Tim_ is perched and doing all the talking. He’s also got an arm protectively in front Damian, who looks half-dead at the moment and is propped up against the wall. Jason does have to admire the fact that the older boy had the foresight to make sure that neither he nor Damian are still enough in uniform to be recognized—they just look like a couple of very worn-out, very dirty kids.

Tim is currently insulting one of men, and Jason waves to get the kid’s attention. His eyes widen very slightly, but he doesn’t break pace in insults and swearing. One of the thugs swipes at him with a crowbar, and Tim presses back against Damian and the wall, which is the best he can do with that little space.

Jason sighs very softly and gauges the men for weaknesses. Dick’s directly behind him, and leans forward to offer a suggestion.

“I’ll take the two on the far left, you go for the three in the middle. If we distract them, Tim can help with the rest.”

Not bothering to point out that there’s really no way that Tim can help without letting Damian fall off the ledge, Jason nods and charges in. Normally, he just goes in, not worrying about his head, but since he’s not wearing the helmet right now, he’s a lot more cautious than normal. A sharp, well-aimed kick into the nearest man’s stomach and ribs puts him down with minimal effort. Jason snags the man’s weapon—a baseball bat with barbed wire wrapped around it—and swings it into the next man’s shoulder, knocking him off balance. This is followed up by a quick, downward slamming fist to the base of the man’s neck, dropping him. The third guy is, unfortunately, alerted to Jason’s presence, so he comes in more cautiously.

As he dodges left, Jason glances swiftly in Dick’s direction—he’s got two on the ground and is working on a third. Jason turns back and takes out the man in front of him with precision. He swivels to face the next man and finds himself facing three unconscious thugs and Tim, who raises an eyebrow at him, as though asking what the problem is. Jason’s about to say something when Dick comes over, breathing heavily, but still upright.

“You okay?” Dick asks, not really indicating who he’s asking. Tim shrugs, which is apparently a mistake, because Dick proceeds to not-quite-shout “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jason decides to avoid the “discussion” that’s taking place and steps around the incapacitated men and over to the ledge. It’s about level with his eyebrows, which makes getting Damian down a huge pain in the ass. He finally manages to haul the kid off without dropping him. The boy is totally limp, an unhealthy pallor contrasting sharply with the drying blood on his face. Honestly, Jason’s a little surprised that Damian’s in one piece—the explosion had been pretty bad, and if he’d been unconscious when he fell, then who knows what sort of damage that could have left. He hefts the kid up, thankful that Damian hasn’t hit a growth spurt yet, and turns to get Dick’s attention.

“Hey!”

Dick and Tim both look over, one annoyed and the other looking surprisingly relieved.

“Is there are reason you were in this God-forsaken tunnel?” Jason snaps, feeling very tired.

Tim blinks like he’s surprised. “Um…yeah. I-it leads to the surface. Uh, I wasn’t sure where you guys were, so I figured I’d just…come back?” The last bit is phrased like a question, probably because he’s noticing the exasperated look Dick’s still giving him and the annoyed look on Jason’s face. “He’s hurt,” Tim adds, nodding at Damian. “Figured you’d be pissed if I dragged him with me.”

Jason nods. “Okay. Well, let’s go then.”

He elbows past Tim and Dick and starts down the tunnel. He can hear Dick behind him saying something about being pissed because Tim wasn’t planning to get help instead, so he figures that his older brother is probably feeling better. Tim is silent, which is also par for the course, and Jason’s relieved that there’s not going to be any real fight (yet).

\---

They manage to get into the cave and upstairs without getting caught. Damian woke up about ten minutes before they all got there (of course), but aside from a little fussing over how his dignity was insulted by being carried and similar shit, he’d settled down.

Overall, nobody was too seriously hurt: Jason got a concussion and needed some serious bandages for the back of his head, Dick has two cracked ribs and a fractured ulna, Tim ended up with about twenty stitches, and Damian has a serious concussion, twelve stitches, three fractured ribs, and sprained wrist. It’s _actually_ not that bad, considering the explosion and fifty (twenty) foot fall, which Tim cheerfully pointed out when Dick started worrying about how Bruce would react to this.

Dick throws a roll of gauze in the teen’s general direction, muttering “Shut up.”

“He’s not wrong,” Jason can’t keep from chiming in. “I mean, nobody _died._ ”

“Not. Funny.”

Tim snickers and flops into the chair at the main console. “It kinda is. So, I’m thinking that we can _probably_ keep most of it quiet. I can erase or doctor a lot of the footage from the masks, and since Jason, Damian, and I all ditched ours anyway, there’s not a lot after the explosion. Um…”

“ _Excuse me,_ ” Damian interjects, sounding peevish. “But _I_ did _not ‘_ ditch’ any of _my_ equipment.”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re welcome for me trying to help. Won’t happen again,” Tim says drily, not looking away from the screen. “At least I didn’t leave you there to _die.”_

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’d better not be a jab at me, squirt.”

Tim just hums noncommittally and Damian doesn’t respond to the older boy’s comment, which is a win. He just sticks his tongue out when Tim’s not looking and goes back to fussing with the bandages on his forehead. There’s a few seconds of silence while the older two wait to see if they’ve really dodged the bullet. And then Dick sighs in relief and moves to put the supplies away.

As he passes Damian, he swats the boy’s hand away from his forehead. “Stop messing with that, Dami. So…Tim, are you doing _all_ the coverup, or would you like some help?”

“I got it.”

Jason raises an eyebrow at the response and exchanges a look with Dick, who shrugs and finishes putting everything away. Then he wanders over towards Jason, glancing back to check that the kids aren’t up to anything.

“Hey,” he says, looking a little awkward. “So…thanks for helping us out tonight.”

“Yep,” Jason shrugs, not sure how to respond. “I’d say ‘thanks for the fun’, but…I’m _really_ not a fan of being blown up. Just FYI.”

“Yeah. Well…” Dick’s face falls a little, and he manages to look everywhere but at Jason. “I’m sorry about that. Really. And I meant it when I said that I won’t ask again.”

Jason sighs, suddenly frustrated with himself and _everything_ else in his life. “Okay, look. I just…um…just… _look_ , without me, you guys would probably all be _dead_ by now. So, yeah, you would’ve been screwed. I don’t want you to think that I’m part of the ‘team’, ‘cuz I’m _not._ And I’m _not working with Bruce._ Period. But…maybe let me know if you plan on trying to get yourself and those two,” he nods at the console, where Damian is leaning over the arm and offering some sort of suggestion (or criticism) while Tim tries to push his arm out of the way. “Killed. I mean, they’re pains in the ass, but…yeah. Don’t lose my number, I guess.”

Dick grins. “Yeah, okay. Well, thanks again, Jay. You stayin’ the night?”

“Nope! No way I’m hanging here.”

“Well, I’ll see you later then. Drive safe, little brother.”

While part of Jason feels like being a smartass, he decides to let it go and just rolls his eyes. He manages to hide the growing grin on his face until his back is turned and he’s heading for his bike. He’ll _never_ admit it, but this wasn’t _actually_ the worst night he’s had this month. Even if it _did_ mean he had to work with his brothers.

**Author's Note:**

> Had this sitting on the computer half-finished for like a year!  
> Okay, so I'm hoping to finish that Supernatural fic before I start the sequel to T'soape Mumbichi (which I'm super proud of, btw!), but we'll see. I'm still playing catch-up at school, so I've got three midterms next week and then finals in two weeks! Basically, Lord knows when I'll post anything, although, given my track record, it'll probably be soon, since I like to write fics instead of being responsible (like right now, when I've got a 10 page paper due).  
> Thanks for bearing with me and I hope you enjoy whatever comes next!


End file.
